


A New Way Forward

by Marajadey (sorayume)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Luke Skywalker, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Firmus Piett Needs a Hug, Force Ghost Anakin Skywalker, Gay Luke Skywalker, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Luke Skywalker Is Not an Asshole, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Mentioned Leia Organa, Minor Wedge Antilles/Luke Skywalker, Piett is faithful to Vader, Pray For Piett, Prince Luke Skywalker, Stressed Firmus Piett, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorayume/pseuds/Marajadey
Summary: Things change a bit in ROTJ and Piett survives. Now he has to live in a world without Darth Vader and the Emporer.He finds an unexpected ally in Luke Skywalker.An exploration in grief and family.
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 19
Kudos: 79
Collections: 2020 Star Wars Winter Exchange





	A New Way Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Destril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destril/gifts).



> Trigger warnings:  
> Grief  
> Mourning
> 
> Thank you to my amazing Beta/editor Strawberry_Champagne who puts up with my frantic headache inducing fics. 
> 
> Also thank you to Father. You know who you are. Your support is... unmeasurable. <3

He should have been dead. The explosion should have taken place on the entire bridge of the Executor and taken him out, along with all his crewmates. But Piett had somehow escaped death by no small miracle. He had gotten a transmission from Vader minutes before the pivotal moment of the destruction of his flagship, requesting that he go down to Endor and search for the Princess. 

Vader had always had strange last-minute requests for him and it was not his place to question his Lord. But in this moment, sitting in the seat of the dead shuttle, watching the Empire’s prize flagship he had worked so hard to recruit the perfect crew for descend in flames helm first into the second Death Star, he felt nothing but remorse for his choices to obey the man he had grown to love. 

Unlike other officers, Vader had always led by example. He accepted nothing less than success from everyone including himself. Piett never questioned where he stood with the man, except for anything related to the Sith Lord’s children. He had never been rational about his offspring, and that was something Piett did not understand. Logic ruled Piett’s life and it was illogical to be willing to sacrifice anything for the traitorous Luke Skywalker. Jedi. Destroyer of the First Death Star and Rebel Commander. Yet Vader did. 

The shuttle drifted from a mass ion boost from one of the Rebellion cruisers and was drifting among other dead ships, the dead Death Star. Bodies floated by from both sides, eyes glazed over in the final moments of death, frost on their lips outside the shuttle’s window. Piett assumed he and his few crew would join them soon enough, considering how unlikely a rescue was with such a complete defeat. The few Star Destroyers that had made it had wisely jumped to lightspeed with the space station's destruction.

Piett wondered if Vader was on the Space Station when it blew – he decided that was something he could analyze and find the solution to. He picked up his commlink and dialed in his Lord’s personal commlink number. He was one of the few members of the Empire to even have this number. The comm rang once. The comm rang twice. On the third ring, someone picked up. 

Piett’s breath caught in his throat, waiting for his Lord’s breath to sound over the link, waiting for the angry response he was sure was going to be issued from the other side. Instead, after a few moments of silence, a rather shaky-sounding voice said “Yes… um hello?” on the other side. The voice was far too soft, far too lacking in confidence to be his Commander and Chief.

“Who is this?” Piett demanded. “This is the personal commlink of Lord Vader himself, no one is to answer it but him. Report your name and station immediately.”

There was silence on the other end and finally, a tired voice coughed and said, “Yes, well, my father is no longer available to answer calls, so I am fielding them for him.”

Piett felt his mind go blank. His Sith Lord. His Master. The man he would give anything for. The best General and Commander in Chief a member of the Imperial Navy could ever ask for… was gone? How could it be? He was so strong, so virulent. He never would have accepted death, he must have found a way to press past the will of the fates and be alive. There was no other reality Piett could accept. 

“Lord Vader would never allow himself to be thus disabled. What do you mean not able to field calls?” Piett demanded. 

“…He’s dead. This is Luke Skywalker. Jedi Knight. I’m with my Father’s body. Who is this?”

A cold wave of misery rolled over Piett. It was true. His Dark Lord was… dead? “This is Admiral Piett, first in command under Lord Vader speaking. Skywalker, if you did anything to hurt Lord Vader…”

A sigh of frustration and a choked sob emitted from across the line. Was the rebel… crying? Piett was confused, he had never imagined that Vader’s offspring would show such a lack of emotional restraint. 

“Father… is gone, Admiral. I will send word to the Rebellion of your coordinates.” 

The comm switched off and Piett was left baffled as to how the young Rebel knew he required assistance, no less his location. The Force truly did work in mysterious ways. Piett was left to sit in his feelings on Vader’s demise, the Emperor’s end, and what was surely a dark turning point in the Empire’s history.

* * *

Luke Skywalker woke to the smell of pine and woodsmoke. His entire body ached as all the pain was catching up with him, every nerve alight and sensitive. He groaned as he opened his eyes to the bright light of morning, coming into the awareness that he was wrapped in Wedge’s arms on a blanket. 

Memories of the night before came back to his groggy head. Celebration in the wake of his own sorrow. Letting himself feel joy with his fellow Rebel members. He had seen the ghost of his Father’s spirit appear in the Force, watching him, his sister and their friends along with the indigenous Ewoks all celebrate the end. Luke knew this was just the beginning, however. The worst of the work was yet to come, and he didn’t envy Leia and the politicians all the hard work they had left to do. But for now he was weary, eyes heavy in the morning light. He had so much to think of. 

Wedge’s needy touches and Luke’s denial of them remained a memory Luke didn’t want to focus too much on. The older man wanted something that Luke was not sure he could give to him. He was not sure that was something he could _ever_ give. They had kissed in the passion of the night, such a kiss that Luke was not sure he could ever feel such again. He wanted every kiss to burn him like the sun. But he wasn’t sure there was more for him than that. What was now, had not been there before. That connection, that moment of firecracker passion, it could blow up in your hand. 

Luke turned over his sore body and stared at Wedge, who opened his brown eyes and smiled at him. He wanted to keep that memory of their kiss as it was, nothing more. The desire, the burning in his eyes was painful, amplifying Luke’s sorrow at the inequality of their desires. Wedge was leaning in for more, but all Luke could think of was his family and his desire to understand everything that had happened the night before. He rubbed his nose softly against Wedge’s and jumped up with an energy he didn’t really have inside him to avoid facing the _more_ he knew that would happen if he stayed. The conversation that he would have to begin with Wedge would have to wait until he had more time to think.

The clearing was littered with the sleeping forms of Rebels and Ewoks, cuddled in sleep after their revelry late into the night. The dancing, the music, the fires, the feasting and drinking had lasted until everyone had nearly fallen over in sheer exhaustion, as the adrenaline faded into sleep. The morning was still early, the mists of the night had not fully burned off. It was a magical time of day, something Luke had never experienced: a forest-mist bitten morning. It was like the shroud of darkness was burning off. He could lick his lips and taste the welcome nectar of victory, yet taste the bitterness of loss as well. 

He needed to meditate, but there were too many people around here to do that. So he did what he knew best. He climbed for the highest point to see the world around him. Here, that was a tree. Fortunately, Yoda had taught him well how to use the Force to aid in climbing, to feel the pulse of the tree's life, to let it guide you to the next safe place to grab hold. To trust in the Force. It was almost meditation in itself, climbing a tree like this.

At the zenith of the tree, Luke found himself looking out across the forest canopy. It was a peaceful place, yet in the distance, he saw the flaming bits of falling ships that had crashed into the atmosphere and thick plumes of smoke. The forest was thankfully wet enough that the fires did not seem to spread far, but he felt like the sight represented his heart at this moment. It should have been calm, serene – but there were fires inside him that were not yet out. Fires he needed to address before he could feel the true peace of a Jedi.

Luke’s comm beeped once. He tried to not let his frustration at the interruption anger him. He was a Commander in the Rebel Alliance – of course he had duties to attend to. Just because they had won a decisive battle didn’t mean they had won the war. The ground troups had celebrated, but many other Rebels had come in after the battle to help gather prisoners and supplies from the desolated ships.

“Skywalker,” he answered the comm.

“Commander, this is General Mon Mothma. I fear that one of our high-ranking prisoners refuses to speak to anyone but you. Can you come up to Home One and interrogate him?”

Luke balked. He had zero interest in interrogating a prisoner. It went against the very core of who he was. It went against the Jedi Code. He was about to reject the offer when the female voice on the other end continued.

“He is saying he has information from your father that you will want to hear… I am not sure…”

Luke interrupted her quickly. “I’m on my way. Keep him secure for when I can get there.”

Luke’s mind was racing. Information on his father? Next to no one knew who his father even was – who would have that information? They could discredit him entirely if they told the wrong person. He was planning on waiting for Leia to tell Command about their parentage. She was always better at negotiations like this. 

Climbing down the tree, Luke nearly fell when his body slipped from a spasm of his muscles. The reminder of the torture he had endured came fresh to his mind in a painfully and acute way. When he reached the bottom, he curled in on himself for a few minutes, letting his body shake and the spasms of pain lance him. He heard that dark laughter in the back of his mind. Halting and sadistic, delighting in his fear, his fading light. His father had saved him. Anakin had come back, just as he knew he would. He chanted to himself under his breath “he loved me, he loved me, after everything, he loved me.” Tears fell from his eyes, but he had no one he trusted to comfort him in this moment but himself.

Time passed and he let himself feel strong again. Let the light side lift him from his despair. His father’s death wouldn’t be for nothing. Luke would make the most of his life. He had to get back to business, and maybe this Imperial asking for him would give him the hope and strength he needed to face tomorrow.

* * *

The fist made contact with his jaw and pain burst through him. Piett had suffered a good number of wounds and beatings in his life, but never in such a relentless way. The Rebel security agent was angry, out of control. There was no pretense of structure here, no beautiful design to his procedures like Piett had come to respect in his Imperial comrades. Just brutality and chaos. Such were the Rebels ever. 

Piett gaped in pain, his normally impeccably kept uniform roughed up by capture and hours of torment at the hands of the Rebellion. He had hoped that they would treat him with the respect due to someone of his status, that maybe he would be executed formally as an example? But no. Angry Rebel agent after angry Rebel agent had come by demanding information that Piett would of course not have given if he did have it. Their interrogations had no rhyme or rhythm to them. He was exhausted. 

Blood dripped from his lip when he looked up and saw a sight unexpected. A Jedi. A man in blue light, a smirk on his youthful face staring at him with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall and staring at him with interest. 

“Tell the guard that you will give him the information if he lets you talk to Skywalker, Admiral,” the man said, a serious note hiding behind the lilt of his masculine voice. 

“Skywalker?” Piett asked, and the guard who was about to kick him stopped and looked at him inquisitively, probably wondering how he had finally gotten the Imperial officer to state anything other than his name, rank, and the Imperial code. 

“Go on, tell him Piett. I wouldn’t lead you wrong after all these years.” The Jedi was handsome, his firm jawline and dimpled chin striking, his hair curly. Piett realized all at once that he recognized this man. It was… it was Anakin Skywalker, the hero without fear! In his dazed state, he started to connect dots. Skywalker… _Skywalker_! Anakin… Luke… Vader.

“Lord Vader?” Piett asked confused.

The interrogator grabbed his face harshly at those words, snapping Piett’s view back to the man. “Yes, tell me about Lord Vader, Piett.”

Piett shook his head as Anakin’s smiled faded to a frown. “Yeah, I did go by that name for far too many years, my friend, but, I am Anakin once more. You must speak to my son. I have left him with my legacy. Show him. Be to him what I cannot. I trust you, friend.” The blue image started fading and Piett cried out, showing more emotion than he intended.

The form of the man had felt comforting, familiar, brought him a feeling of safety when he felt none. 

“I will…” Gulping back the feeling of bile in his throat from his exhaustion and pain, Piett continued. “I will only speak to Admiral Sk-Skywalker,” he finally got out.

His interrogator slapped him full on in the face, anger apparent in his body language. 

“You Imperials are all the same, you only care about the famous. You know the Rebellion is more than just that damn Jedi, right? Also, since when was Skywalker an Admiral?” 

Piett’s face stung from where he had been slapped. Why did following duty always land him in situations like this? He had long since given up on the idea of resting ever, his body eternally tensed, ever in pain from the stress of responsibility. 

He stared at the floor in determination. If his Lord’s wish for him to speak to his son for him, then he would. Lord Vader was logical, in most things. Piett had never wanted children of his own or a wife. He wanted to feel secure though. He had always felt secure alongside Lord Vader. He supposed if he could feel romantic feelings, then Vader would be who he would have them for. But he had never once been interested in romance. Loyalty and duty were all that mattered. He was loyal. He would follow his duty. Even if it meant becoming the damn father figure of the most dangerous criminal in the Empire’s records.

* * *

Luke arrived at the holding area of the Rebel vessel after taking a few minutes to himself to freshen up. His body was aching and in pain, in need of a long rest and probably a dip in a bacta tank. But others needed the Rebellion’s limited supply of bacta far more than he did. 

When he had taken off the black form-fitting outfit and boots that Lando had gifted him, Luke had winced at the sight of his body. He was covered in marks that looked like roots, blistering out from the points where the electricity had touched him. _Actually_ blistering. Okay, he really did need some bacta soon. Finally viewing these marks grounded him in the reality of how close he had come to death. 

Luke had felt his life slipping from him. Felt the pain of it. Felt the ending drawing nigh. What happened after had hurt more though. Losing Dar– _no_ , Anakin. Losing Anakin was more painful than he wanted to admit. Despite everything, the endless hunting, the torment of his friends, the brutal battles between them… he felt Love. 

With a sigh, Luke looked in the mirror. He looked at least ten years older than he had the last time he had taken a good look at himself. He looked old, exhausted, tired. Hell, he felt it too. He just wanted to rest for months. To let all this stress release from his body. To not have to be the shining Jedi knight for a few days. But alas.

Luke had pulled himself together, jumping in the sonic shower. He let the waves of energy drink all the dirt, blood, tears, and sweat from his body. His fancy clothes were torn and bloodied, the boots a reminder of the hardest night of his life. He just wanted to simply be Luke. So he had pulled on his soft old tan and white clothing from the farm. The loose fit made it so that he was not in as much pain. 

The cell blocks were full. Less important prisoners were lined up, cuffed in lines in the corridors, with exhausted looking Rebel soldiers standing around keeping an eye on them. Luke swept past, trying to not think about what their fates would be. Some of the stormtroopers looked very old, very similar. Clones, Luke realized. 

When he arrived at the cell where the prisoner of interest who had called for him was, Luke took a deep breath and headed in. A gruff Rebel turned and glared at him when he entered. 

“Skywalker” he said, sounding annoyed. 

Luke turned and looked at the prisoner. They didn’t look familiar at all to him. He could tell looking at their uniform, though, that they were an Admiral. Unlike the interrogator, who was not even wearing a rank badge. Luke assumed he had authority over him as a Commander, not interested in getting into any conversation. He was too tired. “Dismissed,” he mumbled, waving the other man off. 

The man grabbed a large knife and made a move toward the prisoner with it. The Admiral barely even winced. He must be a brave one to not be fazed by this obviously not fully together Rebellion member. The man spat on the lap of the prisoner and sneered at Luke as he shouldered past.

“Getting to have all the fun again, eh Skywalker?” the soldier said.

Luke tilted his head as the man left. The prisoner looked at Luke. His eyes were tired, exhausted even. He was covered in bruises and his clothing looked quite rumpled. 

“Um, hi. I’m–”

“Luke Skywalker. Yes. Your father told me to speak to you.”

Luke was stunned by the Imperial’s straight-forward manner.

“Y-yes,” he stammered. “That’s why I’m here. Uh... So you, uh... Hell, I don’t even know your name.” Luke walked over and crouched next to the beaten man, looking him in the eyes earnestly. “So let’s start there, Admiral.”

The man seemed shocked at Luke’s familiarity. “Firmus Piett, Admiral of Lord Vader’s fleet,” he said softy. “Whatever is left of it, I presume.”

Luke nodded and reached a hand out to tap the cuffs on the man’s wrists. “So Firmus, do we need these, or can I assume you know better than to attack a Jedi?”

Luke could tell that the older man was attempting to hold back a laugh.

“I will treat you with the respect due to your station as my Lord’s son. I swear to not lay a hand on you.”

Blushing at the mention of his father, his heart filled with conflicted feelings, Luke concentrated with the Force until Piett’s cuffs fell off. 

“Can you stand?”

“I think so. I might have some struggles getting there though.” 

Nodding, Luke grabbed him by the arm and helped pull him to his feet.

* * *

Skywalker was nothing like what Piett had expected. He was soft. Shy. Much shorter than he expected. Yet determined. Most of all, he was kind. 

Luke insisted they leave the brig and go somewhere “more comfortable,” but Piett wondered if this was more out of interest in not having their conversation overheard by the very grouchy Rebel soldiers gathered around. Even so, his body did ache, and Luke made every effort to give him the needs he expressed. 

Making small talk, Luke passed by a cafeteria on the ship and grabbed them both food. Piett was eyeing the caf longingly, as he had a headache from the lack of caffeine in the last day. It was like the young man could sense this, because he grabbed a bottle of water for himself and a cup of caf that he thrust into Piett’s hands before striding further into the ship.

Piett followed behind him, quietly watching the boy. His hips swayed with confidence. His soft white clothing seemed to contrast the harsh lines of hardship on his face. These claimed innocence that even the sunshine smile he gave when friends passed could not pass off in reflection to the dark sorrow in his eyes. 

They arrived in a small corridor room, long and thin with a few chairs scattered about it, with a large crack in the transparisteel. Luke closed the door to the room behind Piett, then collapsed on one of the chairs with a sigh.

“Okay, Piett. I am going to be real with you. I haven’t even _told_ most of the people here about my father, and as far as I know, most of the Empire doesn’t know about my relationship with him. So you claiming to have information about him, when he just… well, it really is a lot.” It was obvious that Luke had a pile of mixed emotions on this subject. 

Piett grimaced and sat down next to the young man, taking a large sip of the caf. It was fine, servicable. “Lord Vader was the best leader I have ever worked under. He was an admirable man and I swore my loyalty to him long ago. He asked me to look after you and here I am.”

“Look after me?” Luke raised an eyebrow.

Piett understood his hesitation – he was an Imperial, why trust him? The Empire and the Jedi had been at each other’s throats since before the boy was born. 

“Yes, um… Anakin? He came to me and asked me to show you your heritage.” 

“My _what_?”

“Your heritage. You might not be aware of it, but your Father was an incredibly wealthy man. He has castles and homes all over the galaxy and an entire fleet of ships, along with a vast sum of money, or at least whatever is left after he needlessly burned through much of it hunting… well, this all falls on you. You are the Heir to the Empire Prince, Luke Skywalker.”

Luke’s eyes widened in shock and he shook his head. “No! I am not a Prince. I refuse to rule the Empire. I told him this, I... I don’t want that.”

Piett gave Luke a significant look. “Regardless of what you want, you have inherited all this, and I believe you should come with me to Mustafar, where your father’s main castle is. I am sure there is information there that I can’t convey to you.”

Luke began shaking his head no, but then stopped. Piett watched him carefully as he seemed to stare past him, then those eyes of sky blue settled on him once more. 

“Alright Piett, alright. I will go with you. If that’s what my father wanted.”

* * *

Luke stared out the window in shock at the planet below. Fountains of lava, molten lakes, a giant black obelisk-like castle. The shuttle he had taken Piett in, after aggressive fights with Leia over going, landed easily after Piett transmitted codes for them.

Piett was a resource of unmeasured Imperial power. No wonder Leia was begrudging to let him leave with her brother. But his emotional appeal to find out more about their father had worked. Everything that he discovered would be of interest to her as well, after all. 

When they landed, a troop of stormtroopers were waiting on either side of the hangar. Luke gulped in slight anxiety – he was still wearing white and looked nothing like an Imperial. Nothing like the Prince they addressed him as. 

As Luke was escorted through the giant castle, he was told that Lord Vader had befitted it and decked it out with the newest technologies. He should not have been surprised when he was shown a room full of clothing made to his size. Of course Vader had this prepared; he had wanted Luke to come with him long ago. He _expected_ his son at his side. Luke took note of the Force-proof locks on the doors with annoyance. Oh yes, his father planned to keep him here, even if Luke had not wanted to stay. 

All the clothes were of the latest fashions in white, blue and black. On the bed, a gorgeous half-length white cloak had been spread out. Luke held it in his hands, imagining his father spreading it out, hoping his son would wear it. As he pulled the cloak on, he noticed that it was slightly too heavy, obviously armored. Piett commented that he looked very handsome, so Luke kept it on. 

They arrived at his father’s office, and in the center was an egg-like pod. Piett told Luke that this was his father’s personal study; he didn’t want to go in, so Luke entered the room alone. The pod opened as Luke approached. It was white inside, with many screens. Just as Luke had sunk into the large circular black chair, the egg closed around him. A mechanical voice spoke. “Welcome, Luke Skywalker! Authorized user.” 

Hundreds of holos of Luke popped up all over the egg on the walls. Luke winced. He didn’t even know that this many holos of him existed!

They faded away just as quickly. 

“Post-Lord Vader's death initiation sequence activated!” 

At first, Luke braced himself, worried that a trap was about to go off – but instead, a series of files popped up. Luke slowly browsed through all of them. Files, holos, information on owned resources. It was a mind-numbing fortune. Finally, he came upon a file that simply was called “Padme.”

Clicking on the file, Luke saw the dark eyes, dark hair, and light skin of a beautiful woman who looked _so_ much like Leia that the connection couldn’t be denied. She was smiling at a younger form of his father wearing Jedi robes. Their touch was intimate, clearly loving. Luke felt overwhelmed seeing it – his mother, at last.

Then a new holo opened. 

“There is always light if only we are brave enough to see it, if only we are brave enough to be it,” the woman said over the holovid. Tears welled up in Luke’s eyes.

Then the holo shifted to Vader. “Foolish Rebel son. If you are watching this, know that I am gone, but that I respected you as a warrior, brave and foolish. Just like your mother. You must be what I could not. The light for this universe, the chosen one. I think it is foolhardy. Yet, you are her son, you are _my_ son. You have more of her than you ever could have of me. I…” a gurgled noise came through his respirator. Was he… crying? “I love you, Luke Skywalker. I hope I do not have to dispose of you for my Master. I hope that you can claim the galaxy as my son. As _her_ son.” 

The holo shut off and Luke stared in awe. He had never heard such emotional words from his father. Never imagined them possible. Yet here they were, recorded for him. Left for him to find. He was floored with emotion. He sunk into the round black chair and sobbed for a long time. 

* * *

Piett waited outside the chamber for Luke, dozing off against the wall of the castle. He must have fallen asleep, for he woke to the young man standing over him, a soft smile on his face. 

Scrambling to his feet Piett inspected the boy. He looked none worse for wear, except his eyes had dark circles around them. Had he been crying? 

“Skywalker. Have you found your heritage in these rooms?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Luke’s smile spread to his eyes and he ran a hand through his blond hair, laughing a little, warmly. “It’s just Luke, you know. And yes… yes, I think I have.” 

“And?” Piett worried about what this might mean for him.

The next thing Piett knew, Luke was throwing his arms around him in a hug, tight and warm. Piett could not remember the last hug he had gotten – had he been just a boy? He felt stiff and awkward, but it felt… good. He moved to return the hug, one hand patting Luke hesitantly on the back. 

“He loved me… He actually said it, Piett. My father _loved_ me,” said Luke, as a sob escaped him.

Piett’s mind spun. He had never heard his Lord use those words. He couldn’t help but believe would far too easy to love this Rebel. Even for the most hardened of Imperial Veterans, fulfilling his Lord's last wishes would be less hard than he first had imagined.

He hugged Luke a bit more tightly, but Luke cried out in pain and Piett immediately released him. “Are you alright?” 

Luke shook his head. “No, I… I don’t think I am. The blisters are getting worse.”

“B-blisters!” Piett was alarmed, thinking of the boy in pain. His Lord would not be pleased.

“Yeah, I kinda got... hurt, aboard the Death Star,” Luke muttered.

“What kind of hurt? Why have you not gotten medical care?” Piett demanded.

Luke didn’t say a word but pulled off his loose white tunic and Piett stared in horror at the blistering wounds crawling away from the boy's spine. Electricity. He had been electrocuted, probably tortured. Yet here he was, taking Piett across the galaxy at the whim of his dead father rather than seeking medical care. 

Piett knew what he had to do. He had to do exactly what Vader told him to do. He needed to be the father figure to this damned sunshine child. He needed to take care of him while Luke was caring for the rest of the galaxy. It would be his final mission.

“Luke Skywalker! You will get medical care right now, there is no other option I will accept. Please come with me.”

Piett started striding out of the room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Luke balking in shock, then scampering after him obediently. He led Luke to the medbay in the castle, where a large bacta tank sat. Vader’s bacta tank. He would have wanted Luke to use it.

“We are fixing you up, young man. Everything in this castle was left to you and you will use it to getter better promptly.”

Luke actually giggled. “You sound like you are trying to be my father,” he snorted.

Piett started at Luke with exhausted eyes until the laughter faded. 

“Wait, _are_ you trying to be my father?!” Luke’s blue eyes shown with emotions that Piett couldn’t quite define.

“It was your Father’s last request of me. I would find it an acceptable mission,” Piett said at last.

Luke stared at him for a few minutes, then lifted his head and laughed hard again. He laughed and laughed, body quivering in sheer mirth.

“You-you have to be kidding me, oh my gosh he is such a _Dad_.” Luke could barely speak, he was laughing so hard.

Piett couldn’t help it, a small laugh escaped him, deep in his chest. “In his final days, he surely was.”

Finally, Luke stopped laughing again and looked at him gravely. “Do… do you really want to be a father figure to me? I would not be opposed, though it would probably be best for you to stay away from the Rebellion. There’s only so much influence I can impose for your safety.”

Piett had already made up his mind. “If you will have me. I can be no substitute for m’Lord, but I will be here for you. The first order of business: bacta bath. _Now_.”

“Alright, alright, _Dad_.” Luke smirked and started prepping for the healing of the Bacta. 

Piett knew it would be a long journey. But it was a journey he was actually looking forward to undertaking. The memory of Darth Vader in his mind was a warm embrace as he directed those platonic feelings for the man into his sunshine ray of a son. 

Thus life did continue on as the galaxies swayed and the stars burned and families were formed of bond, not blood. Love became their legacy, and changed their birthright in this galaxy far, far away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading... I really hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your opinions!
> 
> This was my first Piett fic, I really struggled to write him tbh so I hope I did him justice! I know he is really popular. 
> 
> I hope this gift fic fits your desires!


End file.
